I’ve been a fan of Neil Gaiman for twenty years. He delivers. Sometimes more, sometimes less, and he strives to tell the greater truths, even in the face of darkness and fear, to remind children and adults that monsters are real, and present. I wanted to love this book.

I liked this book.

It’s good. It’s page-turning and easy to read and fun, and there is truth in it. But it was also supposed to be frightening, and it was frightfully self-aware of its own cleverness. It could well be me, jaded, like the narrator failing to fill his heart-hole.